


Sea of Roses

by Rae_Saxon



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Fix-It, Fluff, Forgiveness, Reforming Master, Romance, soft and sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:27:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26534347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rae_Saxon/pseuds/Rae_Saxon
Summary: The Master needs his friend back. And so he decides to finally, finally take her lessons to heart and goes on a quest to not only restore Gallifrey, but his relationship with her. And plans a, basically, very elaborate picnic.
Relationships: The Doctor/The Master (Doctor Who), Thirteenth Doctor/The Master (Dhawan)
Comments: 19
Kudos: 75





	Sea of Roses

**Author's Note:**

> I needed something soft and sweet and fix-it, because my life has gone to shit, so here, take it, maybe some of you could use it also. I didn't proof-read it, but shouldn't be too bad, in all fairness, I very rarely proof-read, I'm lazy.

It wasn't any special night, no parade, no music, nothing but another evening in his TARDIS, staring at the wall, feeling hopeless, angry and alone.

He closed his eyes, just for a second and then the second stretched into minutes and he couldn't find the energy to open them again, didn't know what for. The world had turned black and white years ago and then slowly faded into nothing but black, and he sat here, still pretending it mattered. That any of it mattered.

A single face appeared in his mind, a fierce, beautiful, shining face making him tear open his eyes as if, somehow, the Doctor would stand there if he just did it quick enough.

Nothing but blackness.

It was that single moment something clicked inside him. The Master, still, wasn't sure if the moment had picked him or if he picked the moment, but he liked to think that it was the second – Liked to think that for the first time in his life, he had made the right choice.

He was the Master. With enough determination, he could make everything possible. That had become something he lived and died and came back to life by. A slogan, of sorts, a mantra echoing inside his mind whenever all strength threatened to leave him.

Still, he found himself at his limits as he stood in the remains of Gallifrey, breathing in the ashes, coughing and frowning.

He could destroy. He was good at destroying. Destroying Gallifrey had been a step he had never been quite willing to take before something inside him had so painfully snapped and it had taken nothing, not a single thing, but righteous, desperate rage.

Building something back up? Gods, as long as he remembered, that was the wrong thing he had always messed up.

He let out a huff and a cloud of ashes moved in its wake, whirling around before his eyes.

“Well,” he said to a planet full of nothing. “Time to learn how to do it, then.”

In the end, it took all his courage and wits and more Time Lord knowledge than most people even knew they had once possessed. He had put his little Cyberlord-Army to work, had them wash away the ashes, collect the debris and plant the seeds of something new.

The burning red curves, fields and forests had been burnt into his mind like a map and he worked for years, silently, quietly and alone with nothing but an army of blank minds, not seeing another soul. It felt weirdly good. He could feel something heal inside him, strengthen as for once in his life, his mood remained stable, his resolve untouched and his mind clear.

The only thing that stole onto his mind time and time again, the only face he saw, the only face he missed, in his exhausted, short nights, was always _hers_.

“I'll get this right, Doctor,” he muttered into his pillow, his eyes fluttering shut. These days, he was falling asleep as soon as his head hit the pillows and he was grateful for it. There was no time for nightmares anymore, for siren voices haunting him, dragging him back into darkness. His mind had only one thing to focus on, the most burning craving and so it clung to it with all its might.

“I'll get it right.”

It was the mechanics that proved to be much more difficult than the building and cleaning, however. When he felt like he was loosing his mind over the seemingly impossible task at hand, he found himself working on Looms and the Matrix to relax. They were still complex, they were advanced technology he had never worked on, but it was easier than the project he had gotten himself caught up in.

Often times, while staring into the empty eyes of his cyber army, he wished he could see the Doctor, talk to her, hear her say that what he planned was impossible. Of course it was, oh, it was. But hearing her say it had always been his personal challenge to prove her wrong. To reach new heights and lows to shock and impress her.

With her by his side, he could do it.

He closed his eyes, pinched the back of his nose gently.

No, this wasn't what he wanted to do. He had to do this alone. Not with her, not against her – For her.

He could do it. Because it was for the only person that mattered.

The Master took a deep breath and smiled.

He _would_ do it.

It was his fifth try. He watched the bubble tighten and pulsate, blurring at the edges as he led the literal stream of time into it, whirled it around like a washing machine, spiralled it into infinity. Right now, he held more power in his hands than he could've ever imagined. He could've ended the Time War within seconds, could've taken the universe within a mere moment.

Instead he led it all into the tiny bubble he had spun around Gallifrey and watched it come back to life, construct itself in front of his own eyes.

His face was covered in sweat, his hair stuck to his scalp, he was pale and tired, dark rings underneath even darker eyes, breaths coming in little puffs of excitement, as a proud smile appeared on his lips.

This had been the difficult part.

Now the tedious one could start.

“Welcome,” he muttered for the one hundredth time today, his cheek resting on his hand, the bored, numb expression on his face perfectly mirroring how he felt. “Please leave your robes at the entrance and step into the deconstruction capsule. You have been deemed faulty.”

As everyone before him, his Cyberman obeyed, left the robes carefully folded on top of the already existing pile before him and stepped into the capsule.

The Master listened to the buzzing and the clanking of the tools working quickly and efficiently. No scream was audible – Cybermen felt no pain. But he knew there'd be screams if they did.

He sighed. A few years before all this, he would've felt joy at the complete deconstruction of a species he had built up himself, just for the sake of it.

Now all he felt was really annoyed at what was to come.

A storm was raging inside of him as he finished the looms. Fresh, young bodies for each of them, whole regeneration circles given to them that he had extracted back from the Cybermen's remains. It was only fair, he supposed, since they had been theirs to begin with. But it didn't feel fair. It felt like a waste.

“You better bloody well appreciate this, Doctor,” he growled, then bit his tongue.

No, that wasn't how he wanted to do it, that was just undermining the whole purpose of this. She hadn't asked for it. Hadn't needed to ask for it. And he wasn't doing her a favour – He was paying off debts and hoping for forgiveness he didn't deserve.

He took a deep breath. It got a little easier, now, looming all those bodies.

Everything was going to be ready soon.

There they were. All neatly name tagged, because he did like things neat, every body still deeply asleep, waiting for someone to inherit them.

The Master had decided that he wouldn't be around for this part. He had no desire to see them again, talk to them, get judged and outcast by them ever again. He would, could not forget what they've done to him, to the Doctor, what they had taken from them – The Doctor might be able to mourn them, to still see their innocence whenever they went lost, but the Master wasn't as foolish.

They had no regrets, no souls and no hearts and he had been so close, so terribly close to end up just like them, with only one thread left to tie him to who he really was. And he had tried, oh how he had tried, to cut that one thread, to finally fall free and the Doctor had pulled back time and time again, taken away his scissors and forced him to remain.

It was crazy. They had done the same to her, but she had come out with even more soul, even more resolve, shining brighter than ever, brighter than anyone. There was no one like her in this universe or any other and while the thought physically hurt, had always hurt, it now did for another reason.

Her glow had once belonged with him and God, he needed it back to light up his darkness.

He had placed the Matrix in the centre of the Citadel. From here, he could manually download every single Time Lord mind back into their new bodies. They'd look different, sure, be a bit confused for a while, but their minds were perfectly intact, their regenerations restored and their planet back just how they had left it. How he had found it before he tore it to the grounds.

He would've liked to tell them that he hadn't done it for them. That, if it was for him, they'd still be dead and gone, wiped off the universe with no one to mourn them, because no one outside of Gallifrey cared.

If it wasn't for this one person, the one person he had grown so tired of seeing mourn.

But he was going to be long gone once they reached the Citadel.

Gone to the one place on Gallifrey that had ever felt like a home.

It looked just like before. He had put a special kind of love into restoring this place, had sent his Cybermen away to do something else, because this was his, it was theirs. Their little spot by the lake, covered by trees, protected from everyone's curious or judgemental looks.

It had been their little oasis, the place they had sneaked to whenever they could. There was a little indentation in the red grasses now, from where his TARDIS had left and landed multiple times. He wanted it to be perfect. He had one shot at this, one shot, if any at all, and it had to be perfect. He spread a large blanket in the middle of the field, right next to the shore of the lake, right onto the spot where they had laid down so many times, gazing up at the stars, dreaming to get away.

He set up candles, the good ones from luminous that didn't stop burning and whose flames couldn't set anything ablaze. He was a bit relieved about that, if he was being honest – He had always been a bit untrustworthy with open fire.

He placed down a full basket of food – Nothing too exquisite, because he knew her. She didn't want delicacies from all over the universe, she wanted home. So he had filled it with Gallifreyan food he knew she liked – And a few things only Earth had to offer, with a roll of his eyes that couldn't quite hide away his amusement.

He had begun to whistle while setting up the roses. Just a few thousand, really. Roses from the most famous gardening planet, in all colours, shining like a rainbow as he put them together into bouquets. He made bouquets of purple and black ones too, setting them up alongside. His finger ran over one of the thorns with a thoughtful look on his face.

He supposed he'd always sting a little, but so did roses and the Doctor definitely liked roses.

With a heavy little sigh, the chipper song on his lips finally dying, the Master decided to keep his hope up, just for a little while.

After years and years of work, after walls crashed down for her, work done that was riskier and more difficult than anything he'd ever attempted before, he was finally ready.

Now it all depended on the one, single variable he had no control over.

He found the Doctor in the middle of a little dispute with some Ice Warriors.

“You!” she called out. “I should've known you've got something to do with this! Have you led them here?”

It was odd, seeing her face again after all this time where it had been nothing but a steady image in his mind, keeping him going.

She looked exactly how he had remembered it, from the little line on her forehead to the way her hair got messy under stress, to the nose scrunch she did when she got cocky.

“Hi,” he breathed, forgetting for a second the role she thought he was playing in their little charade.

She frowned.

“What do you want?” she asked, trying a new tactic for information she would never receive, on a plan he had never created.

“Easy,” he smiled, but she wouldn't let him speak.

“They got something you want? Haven't you ever learned from teaming up with other species? Never ends well for you, does it?”

Her eyes gleamed in anger and he felt like he could never grow tired of looking at it. He felt like a drowning man, having dreamed of water for a century and now he had finally, finally reached the bottle.

“It doesn't,” he confirmed. “That's not what this is.”

“Then what is it?” she asked, stemming a hand onto her hip before repeating, “What do you want?”

He gave her the coordinates. Gave her the exact time he would be expecting her. And she simply stared at him in disbelief.

“That's Gallifrey,” she finally brought out and he nodded.

“Why would I want to go back there?” she finally asked, voice cold, but shaking slightly. “There's nothing there for me, you've made sure of that. Do you want to taunt me again? Trap me again? Give the whole business of blowing us up another try?”

He stepped closer, because he couldn't help himself, one finger touching the tip of her nose with a sad little smile.

“Those aren't coordinates to the Citadel, Doctor,” he finally muttered. “Use that brain of yours.”

With that he walked away. She looked after him in surprise but he had given her all he could give. The rest was up to her.

He sat in a sea of colourful rose petals, legs crossed, coat spread out beside him, waiting with a feeling of dread in his stomach, when his phone rang.

He rolled his eyes.

Here he was, having planned a _perfect_ entrance to the last detail and there _she_ was, ruining it with something so incredibly mundane and so very, very Doctor-y.

“Yes, please, love?” he answered, trying his hardest to hold down his annoyance (and failing).

“I don't understand,” she greeted him, which was as good as could be expected.

“Look,” he sighed, a tired hand rubbing his eyes. “Will you just come? Please? You'll understand then, just...”

“And walk into your trap, what... whatever it is?” came the sharp reply and the Master let his shoulders hang.

He deserved this, he knew. He deserved her mistrust, her anger, after all he had done to her. He hadn't expected her to trust him, not really. He was ready to pack it all up, let the roses wither and never mention it again, until one day, in a hundred years, after he had perished in loneliness, would stumble upon it and hopefully know he'd done it for her.

But it didn't hurt to try, did it? Not much more than the thought of that outcome hurt, in any way.

“That's not what it is,” he said again.

“Why would I want to go _there_?” she finally hissed and his hearts clenched painfully at the sound. “You want to break me, is that it? You think that'll do it? Further taunt me with the memories of the boy I used to love? Of the spot we used to go?”

“You know the coordinates by heart...” he muttered, realising that she knew, had known exactly where he had wanted to lead her – And also not clearly been to see what he had _truly_ wanted to show.

“Of course I do!” she shouted into the phone and he held it away from his ear with a frown. “It meant something to me! You might not understand that, being you, but it did, it _did_! How dare you try to use that against me?”

“That's not what this is,” he repeated a third time and he was growing tired, so tired of not having these words be believed. He gave it one last try.

“Look. There are no words in Gallifreyan or any other language to convince you of just, how much this is not what you think it is. I'll have to show you. Whether you let me or not is up to you.” He swallowed, hard, into the silence that followed.

Her shouting had ceased when she spoke again, turned into a hushed little whisper.

“What are you asking me to do?”

“One more chance, Doctor,” he whispered back, feeling his hands shake.

“I've given you a million of chances!” she called out. “A million! And you've used every single one of them against me!”

“Not all of them,” he replied before he could stop himself. “Listen. You tried to teach me how to be good. I didn't forget. I didn't... I didn't ignore it, I promise. I listened, I was there.”

“And then you left!” He could hear the tears in her eyes and closed his own, just for a moment, trying to collect himself. “And then you... you... you tried to murder me, you...”

“I felt hopeless and I felt abandoned and I felt broken,” he called back, unable to hold himself back any longer, called without anger. “You know me, you know I'm not a good person. You know I lash out. You know I take it too far and I know that I did. But that wasn't me abandoning what you showed me, alright? Not... not really.”

She didn't reply and he felt his stomach sink.

“One last chance,” he whispered. “That's all I need. Please.”

She still didn't reply. Blinking away tears, he let his phone sink, ending the call. He fell back down onto the blanket, fighting the urge to grab the candles and find out just how secure the flames really were.

Destructiveness was what had led him here. He wouldn't allow himself to ever go there again.

It was hours later when he heard the faint sound of a TARDIS materialising from afar. He looked up, face still stained from the tears, stared into the trees, wondering if he had imagined it in his despair or if she would really come to him hours too late and....

Oh, what a bloody stupid question, she was the Doctor, of course she'd appear five hours later and walk in like she owned the place.

He wiped away the tears with the back of his hand in a quick move, then rushed back to his feet and ran into the forest, looking for her.

He found her at the entrance to their little clearance, the first roses he had planted there to lead her to her back, as she stared towards the Capitol with her mouth fallen open and her shoulders slumped.

The Master looked past her, able to see the Dome of glass, glittering in the light of the two sinking suns.

He cleared his throat, making the Doctor flinch before she whirled around to him.

“But...,” she brought out as her eyes had found him. “But... how?”

“That's a rather long story, actually,” he gave back, calmly, voice incredible hoarse.

“But but but... it was destroyed.... I saw it... is this an illusion?” she asked, eyes wide and he couldn't help but roll his, just a little.

“You know what, actually, it's a really short story. Came back here. Grabbed my Cybermen and cleaned up.” She didn't approve of that, he could tell, didn't approve of anything that involved _them_ , but it didn't matter. All that mattered now was that she understood. “Created a huge time bubble, sped up time inside immensely to rebuild everything.” Her frown deepened and she looked as if she was about to interrupt him – typical – but he wouldn't let her.

“Rebuilt looms. Fixed the Matrix – Don't take it personally, but it wasn't very easy, you blasted quite the hole into it – Deconstructed my army and downloaded all these pompous idiots back into their old bodies. You can go and check, if you want to. I'm not sure how happy they'll be to see you, though.”

Or vice versa. 

“Do they... remember anything?” she asked, turning back around to the Capitol with an eyebrow raised.

He stared at the back of her head, trying to hold back a shout of despair. Here he was, showing her what had been his last hope of forgiveness, and she was turning her back, asking about  _them_ .

“Dunno,” he brought out instead, as quietly as he could manage, the perfect opposite to how he really felt. “Avoided them since.”

“Alright,” she finally brought out, turning back around to him. “Tell me then. Why? Why do all of this?”

The Master frowned, realising she really didn't know.

With a sigh, he held out his hand. “Come with me, I'll show you.”

She looked down at his hand, just for a single second, before he quickly dropped it, tried to pretend as if he had just wanted to swing his arms, even though it was long too late for it.

He cleared his throat again and walked, finally, finally, through the first arcs of roses he had built, towards their spot. He could hear her follow behind her, her heavy boots crunching on the floor. He'd liked to have turned around, watch her reaction to the roses, as the number of bouquets increased significantly all around them, but he suddenly found himself unable to look at her, his cheeks blushing violently.

He wasn't used to this, this vulnerability, not after he had spent the last centuries lashing out with every possible cruelty to hide away his insecurities. Now here he was, making a fool of himself, leading her into a field of roses, even though he knew, knew, she had barely been willing to come and see him.

He stopped in front of the blanket, his eyes closed as he turned around to her and when he finally managed to open them, they were looking at the floor before here, were multi-coloured patterns where whirling around in the wind.

“I'm not... I'm not a good person. We... we tried that. You should know that by now, it's a hopeless fight. I didn't do any of this because it was right. Or because they deserved it. Because they don't.”

He raised a hand, wiping away a strand of hair that had fallen into his face as if he'd actually be looking at anything.

“I swore to myself not to lie to you when you ask me that question so... that's how it is. I.... did it for you.”

Silence spread out between them and it got so long, so tense and uncomfortable, he couldn't take it anymore, he had to look up. He knew she was still there, could see the tips of her boots and when he finally managed to look into her face, her expression was unreadable.

“For... me?” she asked, her tone wondrous.

“I know it's not... what you wanted. It's not pure or good or any of that righteous crap. It's egoistical and... that's just how I am, alright? That's all I can give you. The things you expect me to be, want me to be, I can't ever be them, but....”

Before he could say another word, she had crossed what little distance was between them with one leg, leaned into him and kissed him. With a surprised gasp, the Master startled, before he finally regained his senses and raised his arms, pulling her closer, pulling her against his chest, kissing her back hard.

When she finally pulled away from him, a little smile was on her lips.

“You're insane. Completely nuts. Do you mean it?” She raised her arms, pointing towards the roses and the blanket and everything and he shrugged.

“Well. Yes. It was a lot of work, you know?” He smiled as he watched the petals get caught in her golden hair. That was about as beautiful as he had hoped it would be.

“It sounded like it,” she replied, putting her hands into her pockets and swinging back and forth on the balls of her feet. “So uhm... is there any food in there? I'm starving. Kinda.”

The Master's hearts felt lighter as he sat down on the blanket and made some space for her hastily. She sat down next to him, far closer than would've been necessary, making his hearts race, as he unpacked the contents of the basket he had put together.

As expected, she was excited like a little child, grabbing everything with wide eyes and taking little nips from all the different things he'd thrown together. He was mostly content just watching her, eating a grape or two as he did.

“So,” she asked after a while, when her hunger was sated and he had marvelled in her for long enough. “All of them are back, huh?”

“All who were in the Matrix,” he reminded her. “I couldn't save everyone, but most of them. Brax is there, if you want to say hi.”

“Not particularly,” she replied with a little roll of her eyes and the Master huffed.

Classic Doctor. She'd have moped about them being gone until the end of time, but once they were back, she lost interest in them. Like a dog wanting a toy it couldn't have.

He could see she wanted to say something, saw her fingers ripping at a bundle of grass next to her.

“Hey,” he joked light-heartedly. “I planted that carefully.”

“Sorry,” she flashed him a grin, but didn't stop. “It's just... so surreal.”

“I... I just want to know what you think,” he tried softly and with a sigh, the Doctor finally pulled back her hand.

“Is this... real?” she asked. “Any of it?”

“You think I did this as some kind of a sick plan? I put almost a decade of work into it, I....” The Master stopped himself, letting his head sink with a sad smile. “No, you're right. Done that before, haven't I? It's... it's real... What I said, I meant that. I need you back, I can't... go on like this, Doctor.”

He looked back at her, searching her eyes for something, just a ray of hope.

When she finally took his hand, he had to swallow down tears.

“It's enough for me, you know?” she explained. “If it means you'll... you'll stop the games, the pointless murder, it's enough for me.” She gave him a shaky little smile. “I don't need you to be anyone you're not. That's the last thing I want.”

“Just less murder-y?” he asked, hope betraying him, sneaking into his voice, but she nodded and he let out a breath he didn't know he had held.

“I can do that. With you.”

“Well then...” Suddenly her face was so close to hers and he vaguely wondered when she had shifted closer, before she made him forget about all of that. Just her breath on his skin, her lips on his, and he could feel her hearts beating against his chest, could feel her hope, her love in his mind, mingling with his own and it was enough. Finally, after everything, all the hollowness, the darkness, the loneliness, it was enough.


End file.
